


Practical Arrangement

by bad1ands



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Anxiety, Arranged Marriage, Bottom Liam, Bottom Zayn, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Light BDSM, Love/Hate, M/M, Oral Sex, Prince Zayn, Rimming, Top Liam, Top Zayn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-01
Updated: 2015-02-02
Packaged: 2018-03-04 15:55:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3073652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bad1ands/pseuds/bad1ands
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a war between the kingdoms of Bradford and Wolverhampton left Bradford the sole kingdom in England, a treaty was signed between the two nations vowing peace and alliance. In offering, Wolverhampton's first-born male would be betrothed to the Royal Malik Family's first-born male and sent to Bradford to live at the palace on the 21st birthday of the youngest. And neither man is keen to the whole ordeal.</p><p>(++So you have Prince Zayn and respectfully titled Liam hating each other, the two PAs Harry and Louis supplying inappropriate jokes whenever possible, and Niall always there to laugh at them.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Bird

**Author's Note:**

> The title comes from the song "Practical Arrangement" by Sting, because the lyrics get across the gist of the story.
> 
> Somebody To You by the Vamps also inspired this piece.
> 
> This may or may not be an ode to Walk The Moon???? idk help me.
> 
> Please enjoy (:
> 
>  
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't even own the laptop I'm using to type this up, much less One Direction. And a lot of organizations are made up in my mind, so if anything is real it's purely coincidence.

**L**

His heart beat has come to resemble the rhythmic clomp of hooves on dirt: steady, sturdy. _– coming up slowly, oh, sun over the hill –_ And he’s a bit out of it – has been for the past fortnight (and, if he’s being honest, ever since he found out). But the thump of the horses trotting along and the slight jostle of the carriage he’s grown accustomed to since he was ushered into it yesterday morning. And right now the thoughts of _It’s the 21st century; why use carriages?_ just aren’t able to progress like they so often have before to the panic of _everything will be so different_ because the exhaustion of far too many restless nights has caught up to him.

After a final farewell to his family that was a bit awkward and stiff, the set of Bradford Royal Guards had escorted him and his luggage onto a train from Bristol to Manchester, and then for reasons unbeknownst to himself, a set of three carriages was waiting for him with an entourage of their own. The carriages were to carry them the rest of their journey to the outskirts of Bradford, the stronghold.

And he still doesn’t quite know how he got into this mess. He knows the logistics, sure; he’d been near forced to memorize the length of the treaty that bound him to Bradford permanently from the day of his 21st birthday. But he is still _confused_ and _frustrated_ because _why should he be forced into a marriage with a man he’s never met where the sole purpose of the unity is to create peace when there already is peace? Why did it have to be him?_ And he knows it’s a stupid question to burden himself with when the treaty states clear as day “…the firstborn male of Payne descent shall be bound to the firstborn male of the Royal Maliks of Bradford… in symbolizing alliance and unity among kingdoms…”, but _Christ_ that treaty had been made just after his father’s birth when the kingdoms of Bradford and Wolverhampton had settled a war, _and hadn’t there been peace enough considering Wolverhampton’s surrender?_ The whole of English reign had resided in Bradford ever since, anyway. 

And his head is so fogged with sleep he’s having trouble thinking, but the facts remain that he hasn’t lived in Wolverhampton for years now, and that the Payne name is merely a respected title now, and that there is absolutely _no _need for an arranged marriage. And despite his trepidation he knows there is nothing to be done against the law. The underlying fact that he has no say in the matter only fuels his anger, and suddenly it’s too hot, and he’s jerking upright to smack his head on the bench he’s claimed. A yelp is released on instinct as his hand jerks up to rub the back of his head.__

__A grumble is uttered from the mouth of his best mate on the bench facing him, but he does not wake. If one good thing has come out of the arrangement for him to be relocated to Bradford Palace, it’s the fact that Louis is allowed to accompany him. Louis’s supposed to begin training the youth in sporting, so he won’t be seen too much throughout the day, but at least he’s allowed living quarters at the palace as well. At least his best mate is with him. A soft snore is let out by Niall as if to remind him “best _mates_ ”._ _

__And it really is warm in the cabin of the carriage as small as it is with the curtains drawn, so he pushes the curtain back. Staring out at the land beyond does little to calm him, but the breeze feels pleasant on his clammy skin. It is still dark – _daylight still a long time coming_ – so he twists his band, the cool metal of the Payne Crest swirling around his ring finger. And normally the raised surface of his initials on the inside of the ring would burn him as it twirls around, but now the LJP comforts him, reminds him who he is: Liam James Payne._ _

♚♚♚ 

__Zayn likes to pride himself with all the proper qualities of a prince, he does. But when he’s being awoken at the crack of dawn by his servant ripping open the curtain to let the already too bright rays in, he can’t help but grunt a “Fuck off, Styles.”_ _

__“Sire, you wound me!” Zayn doesn’t have to open his eyes to know there’s an exaggerated face of mock-offence being played by his friend. In fact, he opts to dig deeper into his duvet._ _

__“Oi!” Harry’s drawl is a bit slow but punctuated, “Much to do today…”_ _

__And Zayn _knows_ he should listen to him, but Harry does this every day, and after a while of watching the pigeon-toed boy pace back and forth he just wants to forget he woke up, forget the last year, forget his whole life. Because in less than six months time he’ll be _married_._ _

__At age five he was told that in fifteen years time he’d have a new friend, and it had excited him so _much_ because the only friends he knew were his servants. At age ten he began to fully understand just what they meant by “friend”, and he didn’t know much what to think of it. By fifteen he was too busy sneaking out or pissing servants off to worry. He mostly pushed the idea out of his head, because five more years was a long way away. But by twenty he was so full of resentment he barely slept at night. He spent his days holed up in his room, ignoring people, or at the very edge of grounds riding or sword-fighting or anything that would give him a rush, anything to unleash his anger on._ _

__Now nearly 22, he doesn’t know what he feels anymore. He can’t place it. And he doesn’t try to, because when he tries to decipher and categorize, he realizes what he feels most is guilt. Guilt that it’s his fault a man’s life isn’t his own, that he’s uprooting him from what he’s always known to the confines of Bradford Palace. Guilt that over the course of ten years he had never allowed them to meet because he was putting off the inevitable._ _

__“… Jesus Christ, Zayn,” he catches the tail end of Harry’s directory, “you’re usually a lot better at pretending to listen.”_ _

__“Harry,” he breathes. And it’s so _tired_ to even his own ears._ _

__He feels his bed dip slightly as Harry sits on the edge, elongated fingers pressing between his shoulder blades in a cooling manner. “I’m sorry.”_ _

__And the thing is: Zayn hates pity. He had gotten so many pitying looks the first decade of his life always paired with “but what if he doesn’t even like blokes?” or “he’s so young for this to be forced on him.” And they had mostly been in hushed whispers swapped between servants or in drunken murmurs at dinner parties. After a while he had grown to hate pity, and his defense was to snap at whoever gave him those eyes. Eventually everyone shut up, and most avoided him because they didn’t wish for his harsh words to bring them down._ _

__But old habits die hard, even around those he is so grateful for. “Fuck off, Styles,” he jerks away from his closest friend, burying his face further into pillows, “I don’t need your God-awful monotone around me right now.” He hopes to God he sounded pissed enough to send Harry on his way._ _

__The bed levels back out, and Harry’s voice is crisper from the doorway. “They’re arriving at noon, and it would be preferable if you stopped acting like a self-pitying arse long enough to welcome them alongside you’re family.” Zayn whips his head around to shoot daggers at his servant, but Harry doesn’t falter with, “And you’re _required_ to be at the dinner table tonight, Malik. Seven o’clock sharp. You can dress as you wish for the arrival, but Eleanor will be up at six to style you for dinner.” A few moments pass before a firm “Prince Malik” is sounded._ _

__Zayn huffs out sharply before “Oh, have you quite finished with your shit?”_ _

__At that Harry’s cool demeanor falls to exasperation. “Sod off, Malik. You don’t get to play that shit on me. You and I both know you need as many allies as you can get, so stop acting like I’m not your best mate.”_ _

__“Harry.” It’s a groan this time. And it’s honestly the closest Zayn ever comes to admitting defeat._ _

__Either way, Styles takes it with a laugh. “I swear to God, Zayn, I’ll have your arse if you’re not at dinner.” And with that he shuts Zayn’s door._ _

>>>>

__The sun is high in the sky now, and Niall and Louis are laughing up a racket on social media. A member of the palace had informed them thirty minutes ago that they were only an hour away, so the other boys took to being restless and, honestly, a bit annoying._ _

__“Ugh,” Lou sticks out his lip in a pout, “Malik hasn’t tweeted anything in nearly a week.”_ _

__Niall just giggles the way only he can. “Yer mancrush is gettin’ a bi’ out’a hand, innit?”_ _

__“Well, honestly,” Louis huffs, “Liam doesn’t want him, and I’m in no way for wasting that beautiful face.” Liam urges him to just _shut up_ in his head, but Lou’s never been one for mind reading. “God, Liam, can’t you just not wait to bust a –?”_ _

__“OKAY,” Liam near shouts, eyes going wide and hands up in surrender, “we are _so_ not going there, Louis, goddammit.”_ _

__Niall is cracking up, but Louis just looks exasperated. “What do you think the honeymoon’s for, Li?”_ _

__Liam shakes his head furiously, trying to erase the mental image Louis set up. “It’s not like we could have kids anyway, so it’s not a requirement.”_ _

__“Oh, come on, Liam,” Louis puts on his reasoning tone, “you know he’s quite fit.”_ _

__And Liam is _so_ over this already, because he’s told Louis time and time again that he doesn’t even _know_ the guy, and that he’s not going to just fuck around with him because it could mess up their chance at a friendship he hopes to attain since, y’know, they’re getting married. Plus, for all they know Malik could have a boyfriend – or girlfriend – already, or maybe Liam’s just not fit enough to get with Zayn, or – “Cut it out, Louis. I don’t want to talk about it.”_ _

__“Aw, mate,” Louis reaches over to pat his hand on Liam’s back, “it’ll be fine.”_ _

__Luckily, Liam is saved from response as Niall ushers them to look out the window of the carriage. The palace, although snap-shotted for the internet plenty as to where it loses its glory, really is quite magnificent up close. With a large pond out front and colors of flowers overflowing and the building itself, he’s not sure where to look first. All stone and grandeur turrets, Liam is a bit overwhelmed._ _

__On the ten minute trek toward the palace Liam’s nerves finally get to him, and they hit him full-force. It’s almost like a panic attack as his eyes go wide, pressing back against the bench so all he can see is the inside of the carriage. And he _wills_ himself to calm down, but his hands still shake, and he feels like he’s either not breathing at all or he’s taking up all the oxygen and –_ _

__“Ah, shit,” Niall mutters as he sits himself next to Liam, cool hands pressing Liam’s head into his shoulder. And then Louis’s hands are rubbing his back, and they’re urging litanies of “breathe” and “it’s all good.”_ _

__He shuts his eyes and tries to steady his breathing so that by the time the carriage lurches to a final halt and the driver announces their arrival he’s able to exit without shaking behind Niall._ _

__And he doesn’t know what he was expecting, but the royal family is lined up on the steps of the palace. The King’s arm is around his Queen’s waist, and the three princesses are lined up from eldest to youngest, and they’re all so striking with their olive skin and dark locks he can’t think to say anything._ _

__“Mr. Payne,” the King’s strong, welcoming voice draws his eyes, “so pleased to have you at last with us.” He descends the stairs with a bright smile and reaches out his hand in greeting._ _

__He has, of course, met with the King before on a few occasions, but he’s never met his son. And it’s not like it matters too much, but for Christ’s sake he _is_ going to be spending the rest of his life with the man. He’d have liked to meet the Prince, but each time an opportunity presented itself their PR team gave off well-scripted lies for why the Prince was “too busy” – or even one time “too sick” – to actually follow through with the meeting (which was rather funny considering during one aforementioned time he had no trouble tweeting a fucking play-by-play of the new Avengers premier). And, yeah, okay; it was a decent excuse for “busy”, but, hell, maybe Liam wanted to see the movie too._ _

__And the fact that the Prince isn’t here to meet him even _now_ mixed with all eyes on Niall and Louis as they introduce themselves mixed with the pure luck of being able to see into a second story window that just _happens_ to showcase a male figure that looks a hell of a lot like the Prince himself is what Liam considers the ingredients to an eager smile gracing his face and both middle fingers up in salute as he walks himself through the grand palace entrance._ _

__And at first he doesn’t register fully the effect of what he just did, but then his eyes land on a tall boy with green eyes and long dark hair whose jaw is nearly hitting the floor as he stares at Liam. The boy saw him. He saw him _flip off the Prince_._ _

__The King is speaking again. “Harry here” – the boy who is still wide-eyed at Liam – “will show you each to your rooms, and I trust that you’ll be well taken care of until supper.”_ _

__“Yes, thank you, of course,” is heard from himself and his two friends as the Royal Family graces off, girls a bit giggly staring at Liam. But Liam hasn’t broken eye contact with Harry._ _

__Niall, bless his heart, is a bit starstruck by the whole ordeal, so it’s Louis who plunges in with the inevitable question of “What are you staring at, Curly?”, his eyes on Harry._ _

__And when the servant’s eyes dart to Louis Liam drops his gaze, heat rushing to his face and neck._ _

__“He… he, like – “, what can only be Harry’s voice starts, and Liam chances a quick glance up, “he _flipped Zayn off_._ _

__Liam looks to Niall who seems confused, and then Louis is staring incredulously at him. “I, um – sorry, I just – “_ _

__He’s cut off by an amused Harry who is chuckling lightly as he shakes his head. “He’s gunna eat that shit up.”_ _

__And Liam doesn’t know what Harry means, so he tries apologizing. “God, I wasn’t thinking – I’m so sorry – I just, like…” but Liam can’t think of anything to say._ _

__Louis jumps in with only the eloquence one Louis Tomlinson could convey: “Christ, Liam!” he throws his hands up in the air before they settle on his hips, “How do you expect him to suck you off now?”_ _

__And Liam’s face shades _impossibly_ darker when the new all-too-friendly boy laughs at Louis, “Oh, I doubt Mr. Payne will have any trouble at all with that.” And even Louis is stunted by that, which just causes belts of laughter from both Niall and Harry. After a moment the curly-haired boy starts again with an air of a servant, “Right, well, I’m Harry.”_ _

__“I’m Niall. Nice to meet you.” Niall opens his arms for Harry who laughs into the greeting._ _

__Once they’ve pulled away Louis eyes Harry with a quizzical look before stating, “I’m watching you, Curly.”_ _

__Harry doesn’t ask his name – probably because it’s literally his job to respect whoever he’s working for – and instead turns to Liam. “Mr. Payne, Niall, Fringe,” he smirks at Louis, “you can follow me to your rooms.”_ _

__And Harry chats with Niall as they make their way up the most lavish staircase he’s ever laid eyes on. Liam’s not sure what he expected, but it’s safe to say mahogany wood and blood red carpet wasn’t it._ _

__Louis leans back from conversation, which is a bit odd. Liam brings up the rear and can’t help but agree with all of Niall’s wonder and enthusiasm towards the grandeur, but he doesn’t speak aloud. Not until it’s just he and Harry stopped at the end of the right wing, doors on either side of the hallway and a floor-to-ceiling window over what looks to be an outdoor pool directly below, a stable at the edge of the property, and what looks to be a sparring quarter at the left corner of his vision._ _

__Looking closer, Liam focuses his gaze on – Oh, God – the man of the hour who happens to be shirtless, back facing Liam. And he can’t help but stare at the expanse of his darker skin, back muscles rippling as he pull what looks like a bow back in shooting formation._ _

__Harry steps closer, and Liam startles as he remembers he does, in fact, have company. “Sorry, Mr. Payne, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” Harry looks sincere, yet a bit guarded._ _

__“No, it’s quite alright,” Liam clears his head as he turns his back to Harry, sheepish smile plaque on his face as he reaches his hand to rub the back of his neck, “I was just, uh…” and he doesn’t really know what he was doing, so instead he says, “call me Liam.”_ _

__Harry smiles warmly, nodding in confirmation. “Liam, your room is right here,” he gesture at the last door on the right of the hallway. “Your luggage should be waiting for you, and I trust that you’ll find everything you need. If not, you can just use the system on the wall to call for someone, and help should be right up.”_ _

__Liam nods along, mind not really on the matter at hand._ _

__“Right, well, I’ll be off then, Liam,” Harry smiles, giving a nod._ _

__“Wait!” Liam rushes just at Harry is to turn, “Um, about my behavior,” he can feel his face flushing, “I really don’t know what came over me, and, like – do you think he’ll forgive me?”_ _

__Harry doesn’t answer for a moment, but then he steps to the window and looks out at the Prince. “Well, why’d you do it? If you don’t mind my asking.”_ _

__Liam sighs as his palm runs down his face, over his scruff. “I don’t know. I just – everything – and…” he chances a glance to the Prince and dully notes that the boy has sunk quite a few arrows into his target before turning his head to Harry, “I realize he doesn’t want this either, but that doesn’t mean it can just change. And I feel like we could at least be friends, but it’s hard to be friends with someone when they can’t even stand to look at you.”_ _

__“It’s also kinda hard to be friends with someone when the first thing you say to them is ‘fuck you’,” Harry laughs, holding his hand up to stop Liam’s apologies. “It’s quite alright, Liam. I mean, I told the bastard he should try to reach out to you, but he’s got a mind of his own. So when he didn’t even greet you at the door I can see how that could be a catalyst.”_ _

__Harry lets out a roar of laughter at the look on Liam’s face, which he can only assume is caused by the term ‘bastard’ in regard to the Prince. “Zayn’s my best mate, Liam. He won’t cut off my head for calling him out.”_ _

__And Liam still looks a bit stunned, but he tries to shake it. “I still shouldn’t have done it.”_ _

__Harry seems to entertain the statement. “Maybe not, but it did probably rile him up for a good shag.”_ _

__Liam’s eyes bulge comically, he knows, but he can’t help it because, “No, I –“_ _

__Harry laughs freely at Liam’s stammering, “Forgive me, Mr. Payne, for that.” He steps away from the window, hand behind his back with a slight bow toward Liam, “Feel free to explore. I’ll leave you to get settled.”_ _

__Before Liam can say anything more Harry’s gone, so he makes his way into what will now be his permanent residence._ _

♚♚♚ 

__Zayn spends a good five hours outside practicing his combat skills from archery to literal sword fighting. Mark, his trainer, always works him hard. But Zayn never complains._ _

__After he can’t waste any more time, Zayn makes his way back into the palace, up the stairwell to the second floor, and then takes a right all the way down the hall. It’s funny how much the layout resembles a hotel, really. He pulls out his key and unlocks the last door on the left of the hall._ _

__The room he opens into is bright, the right side floor-to-ceiling window. Along the back wall his drawings and general art pieces hang, and in the front right corner of the room lays paints and pens over a squared off workspace. Directly to the left he steps into the kitchen to fill a glass of water before walking up the spiral staircase, which is really just a quick 360 to the top. Once at the second level he opens into his bathroom and turns on the shower, already heated water steaming off of the stone flooring. Shrugging off his gym shorts and trainers, he lets the water pelt his back and relax his muscles._ _

__About a year ago Zayn got bored with his life, so he decided to do some renovations. The third floor, where his sleeping and bathing quarters are, is where his parents and sisters have their rooms. Zayn decided to create a loft area out of the third floor and use the second for a kitchen, living area, and workspace. He was actually a bit surprised when he was able to pull most of the remodeling off by himself, proud of his flat._ _

__For most of his shower he lays his head against the glass, not caring if there are smudges later. He’s trying to psych himself up for the dinner he has been preparing for since, well, his father was a child. Since the treaty._ _

__After the steam has cleared his head as much as it can, he shuts off the water and wraps a towel around his waist, walking out of the bathroom and to the left where his bed, closet, and computer are._ _

__He isn’t surprised to find Harry at the foot of his bed, hands behind his back and adorned in what honestly looks like a butler’s outfit. “Zayn.”_ _

__“What do you want, Harry?” He doesn’t feel like talking to anyone right now._ _

__Harry just chuckles. “Can’t I spend quality time with my best mate?”_ _

__“Not when you’re here as my PA.” Zayn isn’t stupid; he knows Harry is here at least in part for business. “Spit it out so you can leave.”_ _

__Harry doesn’t choose to answer in voice; he just pulls a sly smile and raises his hands toward Zayn, middle fingers up._ _

__“Fuck off, you arse.” Zayn was actually trying to forget that incident. Not only does he have to fucking marry some complete stranger, but the stranger also happens to be a complete arse that already has something against him. “What the _fuck_ do you want, Styles? Is there a point to _anything_ you do?” He near growls because he doesn’t _want_ for this to be happening. _Why is there even a need for a fucking treaty that does nothing but plot people against each other?__ _

__Harry doesn’t laugh after that, he just makes his way down to the bottom level and says, “El is coming in ten. _Don’t_ be late.”_ _

__Zayn wants to cry. He wants to punch something. But he just falls onto his bed, arms splayed wide as he stares at his ceiling. He’s been planning to paint something on his ceiling for a while for times like this where he does nothing but lie in bed and stare at the ceiling so he doesn’t cause actual damage to anything around him. He tries to push everything from his mind, but that damn memory of his _betrothed_ saluting him won’t erase itself. And he’s honestly just confused – and a bit curious – as to what lead Liam Payne to do that more than angry over the ordeal. The kid obviously has nerve if he told a _Prince_ ‘fuck you’._ _

__A soft knock pebbles his door followed by a “Prince Malik, it’s time to get ready.”_ _

__He doesn’t move, but he does huff, “Come on with it, then.”_ _

__The Prince’s door opens, and feet pad up the stairs and over to his closet with a curt “Sire” in greeting as his Stylist heads straight for his closet. Harry must have warned her of his mood, because usually she just calls him by his name._ _

__Zayn pushes himself up on his elbows to try to catch a glimpse of what it is El is putting together. Her long legs move her back and forth as she dances around for different shoes or a new shirt. And he admires how graceful she is, how soft her hair is. He admires her like one might enjoy a painting or an exotic animal: it’s nice enough, but he’s not attracted. And that fact kind of bothers him because he’s never really been attracted to _anyone_. A few times at clubs he snuck out to he felt girls up, but he never tried for guys. And even then he’s not so convinced he was attracted to the girls more so than the alcohol in his system was. Every once in a while men pass in and out of the palace, and he can’t deny that he wouldn’t mind a one-off or two, though._ _

__“He’s polite, sire.” Eleanor is still in the closet, the wall between them allowing her to speak freely, “Sweet, even.”_ _

__“Oh, he is?” Zayn’s voice is pitched mockingly._ _

__He hears a faint sigh from Eleanor before she says, “Yes, he is, Zayn. Harry introduced me, and he seems to like him.”_ _

__And _of course_ Harry would like the bloke. Zayn rolls his eyes, but he can’t deny the pang to his chest from the fact that his best mate has taken to the man that hates him._ _

__Eleanor emerges from the closet then and motions for Zayn to get off the bed. He holds tight to his towel and dips into the closet to slide on a pair of boxer-briefs before looking down at the clothing options on the bed. He eyes the options, which are honestly just a few different tops with black skinny jeans. “If it’s supposed to be casual I could have just chosen something.”_ _

__His stylist rolls her eyes at that. “It’s my job, Zayn. Besides, you know I do your hair best.”_ _

__“Well,” Zayn starts as he grabs his jeans and begins pulling them on, “you better get out all the product you’ll need for my locks.”_ _

__Zayn chooses a long sleeved red sweater that is speckled with black. He tugs it over his head and pulls on a pair of sleek Doc Martens before settling into his computer desk chair. A glance at his desktop tells him it’s 6:15._ _

__Eleanor sets her product bag on his desk and pulls out some gel as she gets to work. “You know, I don’t think you’ll need to shave if you don’t wish.” When she only gets a grunt in response she continues, “That Liam Payne is quite the looker, hm?”_ _

__And he closes his eyes with a sharp push of air out of his nose because it kind of pisses him off. He _knows_ what the bloke looks like. He may have found himself on Liam’s twitter page a few times. A month. For the past two years. “I don’t have all day, girl. Shut it.”_ _

__Eleanor falls back into payed employee at that. “You’re going to have to get on with him, Sire. The people wish to see you happy, and there will be many public outings.”_ _

__“Fuck everything.” Zayn doesn’t know what else to say, but it doesn’t matter because Eleanor works in peace for the next few minutes._ _

__“There you are, Sire.” Eleanor gathers her supplies and lets her feet pad down the stairs. Just before she leaves she throws out a “You look smashing, by the way.”_ _

__He smiles at that, but her compliment does little to settle his nerves. He spends the next twenty minutes in his art studio trying to pencil in a sketch of Safaa, but it’s to no avail because his hand is shaking just too much. When he finally gives up with a groan and a kick to the wall, he goes upstairs and out onto his balcony to inhale a cig before he has to leave._ _

__When he arrives at the dining hall it’s only 6:50, and he can hear voices from inside. Through the crack in the door he can make out the back of his betrothed at the end of the long table, black leather jacket over his shoulders and short hair gelled in way Zayn knows his would never work with._ _

__Although he can’t quite see his parents on the end of the right side, he can hear them laughing. Doniya and Waliyha take up the rest of the right side. A blonde male is across from Waliyha and with Safaa to his left. There’s an empty seat between Safaa and Harry, who is across from The King._ _

__And Zayn eyes his seat at the end of the table. Directly across from Liam Payne. And he can’t go in. He just can’t. Because his parents are _beaming_ at Liam. And Harry is laughing at something Liam’s just said, and Safaa is giggling up at him, and the servers have already taken to calling him by his first name, which means they like him, _and what makes him think he can barge in here and turn his family against him?__ _

__Zayn hears footsteps approaching him and he jerks around to eye a man about his height with a fringe being pushed from sharp blue eyes, simple skinnies and vans that work well for him. The man halts a few yards in front of Zayn in a slight bow. “Prince Malik.”_ _

__“Who are you then?” Zayn sounds a bit petulant even to his own ears._ _

__The man straightens, not put off at all by the Prince’s attitude. “I’m Louis Tomlinson. I’ll be Liam Payne’s PA.” Zayn doesn’t say anything, so Louis looks at his watch with “7:00 pm, Sire. Shan’t be late.”_ _

__Zayn follows the man into the dining hall, stiff air sucked into his longs to hold._ _

__> >>>_ _

__Liam has relaxed quite a lot since making his way into the dining hall. The Royal Family had greeted him kindly and eagerly. But, at the same time, with each passing minute he grows a bit more apprehensive of the Prince’s arrival._ _

__“Louis, Zayn,” King Malik – (Yaser, he insists) – greets two people entering the room, and at that everyone rises to their feet in respect._ _

__“Oh, my,” Louis, of course, jokes, “all this for _me_?” His hand is thrown over his heart as he lays a comforting hand on Liam’s shoulder on the way to the spot between Princess Safaa and Harry._ _

__And Liam _tries_ to avoid it, he does, but his eyes follow the Prince as he walks to the other end of the table. And he _swears_ jeans that tight shouldn’t be allowed, but, honestly, his groin doesn’t agree._ _

__Prince Malik gives a terse nod to his father, and then the King announces, “Let’s eat.”_ _

__As everyone seats themselves Liam is last to sit, and once he does he can’t stop the bounce in his knee. He can, however, calm the slight tremble in his hands by fisting them on the table._ _

__Niall notices Liam isn’t eating and rests his palm on his knee, which Liam thanks him for with a small smile._ _

__After a few minutes of easy conversation and the familiar laughter from his friends he begins spooning soup into his mouth, which, really, might be the best he’s ever had._ _

__“So, Liam,” Queen Malik smiles warmly at him, “what are your interests? Talents? We’d love to provide you with any entertainment we can.”_ _

__“Oh, no, Queen Malik,” Liam fumbles slightly, cheeks heating as he hopes no one notices, “there’s no need to go out of your way for me. Besides, I mean I don’t really – “_ _

__“Nonsense,” Louis pipes in, eyes landing between the King and Queen, “If you don’t mind me saying, Liam here is too modest; he’s quite the athlete.”_ _

__“His right hook could kill,” Niall, who seems to have lost the daze of a fanboy, clarifies._ _

__“Oh, that’s just _wonderful_ , Darling,” the Queen is truly beaming, eyes bouncing from her husband to her son with a nod before back to Liam, “Zayn has the best personal trainer, really, and I have no doubt he’d love to work with you, right Zayn?” She directs her question to her son in efforts to get him speaking._ _

__And it’s then that Liam fully realizes he’s never heard the Prince’s voice, nor looked him in the eye. So before he can stop himself, his head pops up to gaze at the man across from him. And he shouldn’t have. Because the man’s eyes are near black in distaste, and they’re piercing Liam’s. And Liam can only stare at the sharp cheek bones, slight scruff, and raven hair pushed back off his head in a way that makes his dick twitch at the prospect of his own finger pushing the Prince’s hair just like that. “Right,” the boy spits through tight lips._ _

__And at that Liam wrenches his eyes away as fast as the color leaves his face. Because the Prince hates him. And he has to _marry_ the bloke._ _

__“So,” Louis steers eyes toward him, “should I be meeting with the PR team about tomorrow?”_ _

__“Right, Louis, thank you. Eleanor can brief you whenever on what all will be going on tomorrow.” King Malik looks to Liam then. “And she should be by in the morning to help style you for the outing.”_ _

__Liam’s sturdy voice surprises himself, “What exactly will we be doing, then?”_ _

__Harry pipes in at that. “It’s just an outing, Liam. You’ll be interviewed by Kara Douglas from Bradford Buzz so the people can get their look at the famous couple.”_ _

__A strangled noise rips from the Prince’s throat, and it sounds a lot like a scoff._ _

__“Question, Malik?” Harry turns to Zayn with a smirk of amusement._ _

__“That’s fucking _rich_ , innit? We’re no couple. The people are being _cheated_.” He’s leaned forward over the table slightly, hands gripping the edge of the table with a sick sneer. He ignores his parents scolding – _so we’ll be rude, we’ll be loud_._ _

__Liam, against all rationality, feels like he’s been punched in the chest. “Prince Malik,” he stands, palms out in surrender, “I realize this isn’t ideal, but –“ _this is why we’re biting the bullet: we know the kids are right_ “it’s for the best. This is what the nation needs.”_ _

__And Liam really doesn’t believe what he’s saying, so it’s no surprise when the Prince stands to his feet, chair falling back at the impact. His hands are outstretched, pointing at Liam when he near yells “That’s a load of bullshit, Payne. You and I both know that you don’t want this anymore than I do, so quit being a fucking twat and don’t lie.”_ _

__And in some parallel universe he knows there would be a lot of humor in the fact that Zayn Malik walks out with his middle fingers thrown carelessly in the air, but for the love of God can’t find it, so he just gapes as the grand dining hall doors slam behind Malik’s departure. And Liam feels so bad that his friends are shocked into silence while the Royal Couple apologizes profusely that he just shakes his head and mutters a “I’m so sorry, forgive me” before rushing after his betrothed._ _

__Once out of the dining hall he can see the man stomping to the grand staircase. “Prince Malik, wait!” and when he only gets another middle finger in response he mutters a “ _fuck_ ” before running after him._ _

__“Well,” the Prince stops abruptly in a spin at the bottom of the second staircase once Liam reaches him, “your friends weren’t lying about your athletic abilities, were they?”_ _

__And Liam can’t quite place the tone, but he knows well enough that the man is using humor to cover his irritation. “Look, Prince Malik –“_ _

__“Endearing, really,” he sneers, as he pivots to place a foot on the first step, “Never had a bloke chase after me quite that fast.”_ _

__And Liam is _furious_ suddenly because the Prince is such and _arse_. “God _dammit_ Zayn, shut the _fuck_ up!” he spits as he grabs at the collar of his shirt and pushes him against a wall. And Liam doesn’t have time to consider the consequences of the intimacy of first names, or even their chests pressed together as his hot breath huffs at the man’s face. Because he feels as if a current is running through him, lighting him up starting at his fingertips. Because Malik’s skin looks so smooth, the color slightly tanner than his own – _different colors_ – with a hint of red in the cheeks. And his _eyes_ aren’t brown – not even close –, but a hazel with striking green, and right now, with his back pressed defenselessly against a wall, he’s lost the hard mask of his face, and he looks almost soft. And “I’m sorry, Sire,” his grip loosens a bit and he looks away, but he doesn’t back away – _we carry each other_ –, “it was uncalled for. And I wasn’t thinking. And it wasn’t funny or cute, and I regret it.”_ _

__Liam steps away and lets go, waits for backlash from the Prince, but nothing is heard as both straighten their crinkled attire out, red against black and dark eyes against lighter – _we’re just different colors._ “And I’m sorry,” Liam adds for good measure, “I didn’t mean it then, and I don’t mean it now.”_ _

__The Prince makes as if to say something, but then he’s whipping up the stairs and out of sight. And the crackling energy is no longer there, and he feels as if he may pass out from the lack of  
it._ _


	2. Acting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Twitter fun

**L**

Waking up early means he can go for a run, an early morning workout. Waking up early is no big deal for Liam. 

But last night after Prince Malik ran from their – _what was it, an argument?_ – he couldn’t face the dining room full of people, increasingly guilty and angry and just _drained_ , so he just stomped off to his room and fell on his bed. And of course he couldn’t get to sleep in such a huge bed, the whole room too clinical around him, so he set up his Xbox and shot people on Modern Warfare 3 (because he’s so comfortable with the maps, and playing it feels so _normal_ , and the twelve year old voices talking to their friends permeating through the speakers is always so ridiculous it amuses him) until two in the morning when he got on twitter before _finally_ falling asleep around 3:00 am.

Waking up with the sun _usually_ isn’t a big deal for Liam, but waking up at 6:30 am to a girl shining a damned flashlight into his eyes does not fair well for his mood.

“Up, Mr. Payne,” she sings cheerily, “Big day ahead.” She makes her way around the room, drawing curtains back like the veil in his mind; spotlights shining clarity in the dark.

As the room grows brighter everything comes back into focus: he’s in Bradford at the Royal Palace. He’s in his new room. He royally (no pun intended) pissed off Prince Malik. Whom he is to marry. A groan that borders on a whimper leaves his mouth as he pulls a pillow over his face, but he’s too tired to be embarrassed.

“Let me guess,” the voice is closer to his bed, “rough night?”

Liam pulls one eye open and tries to shade his vision with his hand against the harsh light. The face of the PR team – Eleanor – is in front of him, hands on her hips and a slightly pitying look gracing her soft features. “How’d you guess?”

She scoffs, but it’s not unfriendly. “Well, I heard you didn’t come back after Zayn stormed out of the dining hall. And Zayn locked everyone out of his room, so _he_ obviously had a stick up his arse.” She walks to Liam’s 90-inch plasma screen TV (yeah, so maybe he measured) and studies the gaming console. “Plus, you had time to set this puppy up.”

Liam doesn’t comment because he’s kind of sort of stuck on the part where Malik had shunned everyone last night. _Of course he’s still mad._

“And also,” she continues with a smirk pulling her lips, hiding a laugh, “I saw your tweet.”

“Wait, what?” Liam shakes his head, trying to clear a path for his brain to function properly, “I tweeted?” Eleanor eyes him expectantly until - _oh, that tweet._. And then he’s groaning again because “I shouldn’t have said that. I should not have said that.” He’s up then, hands raking the bed for his phone. “I’ll delete it. I’ll just get rid of it –“

“No offence, Mr. Payne,” Eleanor clucks her tongue, “but there’s no use now. Everyone’s already seen it.”

“What do you mean everyone’s already seen it?” He doesn’t mean to sound harsh, but that’s how it comes across.

Eleanor takes it in stride, though. “Well, when you mention the Prince of England people tend to pay attention.” She raises her eyebrows at Liam, hands on her hips.

“I – what?” He really doesn’t know why his memory recall is choosing to be so sluggish right now. And then “Oh, _God_.” He _did_ direct mention Prince Malik. And he so obviously made a fool of himself, not doubt pissing his fiancé off _further_. And he can’t say anything else, so instead he opts for hanging his head in his hands.

“Oh, don’t bother, Liam. What’s done is done,” Eleanor says. “Now, let’s get to business.”

Liam’s not one to dwell on the past, so he tries to forgive himself for embarrassing himself on social media for the _world_ to see and instead focus the little energy he has on Eleanor. (Which is incredibly hard because he _tweeted The Prince of England_ and _reminded everyone officially of their engagement_ and he no doubt made himself _look an incredible fool_.) He sits up, one hand propping him up while the other scratches over his belly.

“Okay, so,” Eleanor starts, obviously pleased with the attention, “I’m head of Public Relations. Mostly for Zayn, so that means for you too, now.” She doesn’t break (except to get a curt nod from Liam as something he doesn’t recognize burrows in his tummy) before going back to pacing the room. “Today we’re going for a public outing. Bradford Buzz is lucky enough to be the first to interview the Golden Boy –“ Liam lets out an obvious guffaw at that “ – Oh, be quiet, Liam. You know it’s true. Everyone’s been in love with you since before they knew about the betrothal.” She raises one brow at Liam as if daring him to object, but the thing is that he can’t. Because it’s true. The numbers of people that keep up with him on twitter and greet him in the streets show just further Eleanor’s supposition.

Liam rolls his eyes a bit, shifting awkwardly because he never _wanted_ the spotlight, he was born with it beating down on his back. It was almost as if the Maliks and Paynes had been conspiring, which does seem fairly logical, honestly. Because two months away from the birth of the first Malik son – when no doubt countless tests and prenatal vitamins confirmed he would be healthy as ever, a right fit prince – Liam was conceived. And he tries not to think about the fact that his parents stopped trying for kids after him, that they had only ever given him the best, but not what he wanted. That he always had the hottest presents, but never the heart-felt buy of a sweater.

“Anyway,” she continues, fingertips pressed together in front of her, “not only is it a chance to officialize the engagement with the people, but the first outing for you and Zayn as well. A chance to see how you’ll work together in addressing the people and each other. Everyone is rooting for you, honestly, so I can’t see anything going wrong. They just want to see their Prince happy.”

At that she enters his closet, leaving Liam to his thoughts. But instead of allowing his mind to wander he pads over to the bathroom, using the restroom before brushing his teeth until there’s barely any paste left in his mouth. At least the man in the mirror doesn’t look like he only got three hours of sleep. But his hair clearly shows he hasn’t washed it in a while, so he gets the okay from Eleanor to take a shower before sluffing off his joggers and stepping into a shower that could fit three comfortably. And the cleansing actually does make him feel a lot better. He probably spends too long playing with different showerhead settings and smelling all of the body washes instead of actually washing, but he doesn’t care because afterward he’s calm and a mix of fruits and spices cling to his skin, muscles relaxed.

Exiting the bathroom, Eleanor is too busy laying out clothes on his bed to really acknowledge him. After a bit she holds up clothes Liam’s never seen in his life, mumbling to herself and scrutinizing the boy so obviously uncomfortable under it. He begins to grow a bit self-conscious, shuffling his feet as the woman squints her eyes at him and scrunches her nose slightly.

“Sorry,” Eleanor laughs a few minutes later, “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable; I’m just trying to figure out what would look best with Zayn’s outfit.”

“You’ve woken him then?” he can’t help but sound uneasy, because if Zayn’s awake that means there’s a chance he’s seen the tweet.

Eleanor literally snorts, and it throws Liam off for a second. “Oh, no, Liam,” she laughs as she waves her hand dismissively in the air, “there’s not a chance of our Prince waking up before 8:00 am on most days. And even then it’s usually Harry that wakes him because he knows how to deal with his shit.”

And Liam’s actually a bit irritated, because maybe _he_ wants to sleep in until 8:00 too. But then Eleanor’s shoving a black and white plaid long sleeve at him and turning around so he can change into that and light wash jeans.

“You look _fit_ ,” the stylist nods her approval after he’s dressed whilst pushing him into a chair in the bathroom before he can blush too hard. As she applies product to his hair, she speaks freely on the day’s events: “Now don’t be worried about the interview, Liam. They’re mostly just going to ask questions about you personally to get to know you. All of the questions have been briefed, so it’s nothing too scandalous,” she winks before continuing, “and Zayn will be there to offer help if you need it.”

Liam makes a face at that because he doubts Malik will want to help him after a terrible first impression and no doubt Liam embarrassing him to no end on social media, but Eleanor doesn’t take note as she continues, “It starts at 11:00 am, but we have to be there around 10:00 to brief security and set up and all. Afterwards I believe you’re scheduled for a bit of greeting Malik’s fans and then a lunch out.”

“His fans?” Liam questions as Eleanor swivels him around to pat concealed under his eyes.

“Don’t ask me, but fourteen-year-olds love your fiancé.” When Liam squirms a bit at that, El leans back and sighs. “You know, Liam, Zayn’s really not too bad.”

“Oh, I believe you,” Liam cuts in, “it’s just that he probably hates me after all the shit I’ve put him through.”

As if God-sent, Louis Tomlinson bursts into Liam’s room. And Liam can’t actually see the firecracker from the bathroom, but he sure can hear the incredulous “Were you _drunk_ last night, Payne?”

In the two seconds it takes Louis to enter the bathroom, Liam barely has time to stand before Lou’s iPhone is waving dangerously close to his face. “More importantly,” Louis’s hands jerk around excitedly, “did you shag him or summat, because you legitimately sounds like a boyfriend and – “

Eleanor swats Lou’s arm before he can finish and interjects, “Oh, hush _Louis Tomlinson_. Leave the poor boy alone.”

As usual, Louis takes no heed. “That lad is a right arse, Liam. I can’t believe you fucked him!”

“God, no, Louis! We didn’t even talk!” He’s too flustered to care that his stammering is ridiculous and doesn’t do much to instill all the truth in his statement.

“Yeah, well,” Louis clamps a hand over Eleanor’s mouth in retaliation, “fucking _tweeting_ shit like that is a sure-fire way to make-up sex.”

Liam can almost _feel_ the heat radiating from his face as his head falls into his hands and he moans pathetically. “Is it really that bad? What the fuck do I do?”

Eleanor wriggles from Louis’s grip to voice, “No, Liam, it’s not bad at all. It’s rather adorable, actually. And Zayn may seem tough, but I can guarantee that if he doesn’t talk to you today it’s because he’s taken the role of a blushing bride.”

Louis’s eyes go wide and he tries removing Eleanor’s hand so his words won’t be garbled behind it, but then both Louis’ and Liam’s phones ding with a Twitter notification, and Louis’s literally gapes at his phone.

Eleanor scans along with Louis’s eyes before she’s cooing, “Aww, I told you, Liam!” And before Liam can question what she means Eleanor’s smirking at Louis. “Now, mind telling why you’ve set notifications for when Zayn tweets?”

And Liam doesn’t stick around to hear Louis’ reply, heart swallowed by his stomach as he searches his bed for his phone once again. Confirming his suspicion, a notification tells Liam that Prince Malik tweeted him.

♚♚♚

So maybe Zayn’s been up for a while now just staring at the ceiling. And he _really_ should start that painting the ceiling thing, because plain white just can’t seem to hold his attention. Even after smudging up his sketchpad late into the night, he couldn’t manage more than six hours of sleep. Which is frustrating, because usually charcoaled fingers and shaded abstracts calm him into a drowsy state.

Like every other day, Harry doesn’t even knock on Zayn’s door before barging into the flat and stomping up the stairs. And like every other day, Zayn doesn’t acknowledge him. But today Harry is unusually perky with a glint in his eyes and a lift in his tone Zayn can’t help but pay attention to. “It’s 7:00 am, mate. I can’t believe you’re up.”

And _nope. Not today._ “Fuck _off_ , Styles. Honest to God you’d think you could manage to not insult me with the first thing out of your mouth every day.” Zayn doesn’t allow his eyes to stay on Harry long enough to watch his reaction, but he expects it’s just an eye roll anyway.

“Yeah, well, practice what you preach, Malik. Have you checked your phone?” Harry sounds so _amused_ and _smug_ that Zayn can’t help but slice daggers at him.

“What the fuck are you going on about, Harry?”

His PA just barks a laugh. “You’re, like, four hours late, mate.”

And Zayn _really_ doesn’t have a clue what he’s talking about, but then Harry’s out of his door with an “El will probably be up around 8:00.”

He sighs and gouges the ceiling with his gaze. He manages to draw out images in his mind of what he’d like on the bare canvas above for five whole minutes. But something is nagging at him like a leash drawing tighter, curiosity festering inside of him until he _does_ check his phone. And he really doesn’t know what the fuck to expect, nor where to look, so he starts off checking the notifications that popped up on his phone while he slept.

Too many random people tweeted him to count, which is extremely odd, honestly; usually people don’t mention him too much because they’re respectful, but last night the gates of Hell were obviously opened. 

Reading through a few, he sees he’s mentioned in reply to a Liam Payne tweet. He reads two tweets directed at him from teenaged girls, one saying “Don’t be mad! ) : @zaynmalik” and the other “Makeup sex? ;)”

And _what the fuck?_ He taps to Liam’s profile and stares at his most recent tweet for a bit too long as he tries to let it sink in.

> _**LiamPayne:** I’m a stupidd stupid boyyyyy. Made my fiancé maddd :((( How do I make it up to **@Zaynmalik** ???_  
> 

  
And then Zayn’s scrambling out of bed, wearing a path in his carpet. Because _what was that?_ Like, Liam had said he was sorry at some point last night, but he figured Liam would brush off the ordeal after he cleared his conscience with an apology. And Zayn was going to go along with it so he could brood quietly whilst Liam thought everything was fine. Because Liam is obviously an asshole who just doesn’t want it in for with the Prince, right?

Reading over the tweet again only pisses Zayn off further because _Stop the fuck reading it; it doesn’t matter_ , and the way the boy has little care for grammar shouldn’t be endearing, but it _is_ , and it’s really hard to hate the guy when he went out fucking admitting his wrong to millions and then declared that he wants to fix what he did.

Zayn finds himself out on the balcony halfway through with his second smoke when the obvious answer comes to him: Liam is playing up their relationship for the people. That’s all. That’s it. And he knows he should feel satisfied that he’s solved the mystery tweet, but it just leaves him with a bitter taste in his mouth so completely different from the cigarette’s. 

But the fact that Liam Payne has the nerve to play a game so _tedious_ and _infuriating_ wipes all signs of – _hurt? No. Disappointment?_ – from his gut. The fact that this arse of a man is going to dick with him in closed quarters but lie to the cameras with silly apologies and no doubt sugary smiles fucks with Zayn’s head, filling it with fire. So when he stomps out his smoke and stalks back inside, he can’t help but let a self-satisfied smirk tug on his lips as he feeds Liam back what the man threw up:

> _**Zaynmalik:** Everyone better be suggesting something spectacular, because my boy **@liampayne** is in deep.  >:(_

  
He throws himself into the shower before he can stay on Twitter and wait for a reply or anything equally as ridiculous. His hair and body washed, the hot pressure between his shoulder blades almost lulls him to sleep when his phone dings and he jerks his head up. Shutting the water off and wrapping a towel around his waist, he drips water across the floor over to his phone on the counter.

And _no_ he’s not at all disappointed that the notification is just a text:

> “ **Styles:  
>  ** Correction: YOU, dear boy, are in deep.” 

  
Zayn shuts his phone off and falls onto his bed, the ceiling still not able to provide the answers to any of his questions.

»»

Whether or not Liam has memorized Zayn Malik’s first tweet to him is irrelevant. Because while to the internet population it can seem joking, he has a bad feeling about it. Liam just knows that he’s apologized already – twice now if you count his tweet – and that he can’t _make_ the Prince forgive him, so there’s no use thinking on it too hard.

And that’s what he continues to tell himself for two hours until it’s 9:30 am and Eleanor is escorting him out of his room. Down the grand staircase and out the palace entrance, Liam barely has time to beg off a banana before Head of Security Paul is opening the back door to a sleek black Cadillac for him. The door shuts just after he’s in, and Paul stays on the outside. The only other person in the car is a driver (‘Terry’ did they say?) who has sunglasses on and looks half asleep.

Liam rests his head in his hands, elbows on his knees, and breathes slowly in hopes of warding off any panic attack before it actually sets in. But then the door to his right startles him, and the man that climbs into the seat beside him does nothing to keep the air in Liam’s lungs. And when those bright eyes meet his own, he freezes up, jaw clenched and lungs burning for air.

Because Malik shaved, and it makes his jaw even sharper, and his hair is pushed back again, and his shirt dips low enough to give a peak at ink underneath, and his eyes still haven’t left Liam’s even though it _has_ to have been hours since he got in the car.

The rap of knuckles against the window to his left elicits a too-girlish squawk from Liam, legs startling as his waist jerks him to face the window as he begins rolling it down.

The “hmph” Liam feels more than hears from the Prince steels his jaw, hands clenching, because the dick sounds sickly _amused_ by Liam’s fright. Because _of course_ nothing will ever be near friendly between them. Because Malik has always been a self-righteous arsehole and no amount of sweet from Liam could dent armor of that sort.

When Liam’s face is fully revealed to Eleanor he expects to see her flinch from his callous countenance, but instead he’s shocked to recognize pity pulling out the sad in her eyes. “Mr. Payne? Are you alright?”

And he’s grateful for the professional tone, but his voice does little to convey that as his frown contorts his words lowly. “No,” he shakes his head in efforts to clear his mind and swallow the lump of discomfort in his words, “I mean – yes. I’m fine.”

He must not be very convincing, because the PR’s eyes flash worry, losing all pretenses, “Liam, I can get Louis or Niall.” Because of course she’s been briefed on Liam’s – erm – condition. _Anxiety_ , he reminds himself, _he has anxiety and occasional panic attacks_. Eleanor’s tone shifts viciously, eyes narrowing behind Liam as the chill in her voice rings, “We can arrange to have a friend ride with you instead, Liam.”

It’s not until the voice under Eleanor’s stare speaks up that Liam realizes how close Malik is beside him. “Shove off, Calder.” The tone is harsh, annoyed even, but the pressure against Liam’s right side and the firm arm snaking around his waist is an unexpected comfort even if the zing of electricity running through his veins puts him on edge. “We’re quite alright.”

Liam can’t decide whether to lean into the touch or stiffen his spine to rid the energy current, both a bit jarring.

Eleanor shifts back to Liam, eyes scolding, and Liam inadvertently shrinks into Malik until – “Liam, you have to tell me when –“ and he’s jerking his posture straight, eyes wide as he declares “I’m _fine_ , Eleanor,” because maybe the Prince doesn’t know about his condition yet, and he wants to hold onto that, avoid the pitying stares as long as possible.

Eleanor nods once, face pinched. “We need to go, then. The ride isn’t long.” With that she turns and places herself into the car behind his.

Liam eases back and is only a little surprised that there are no longer wiry, deceivingly muscular arms to fall into. He’s irked with himself, because it’s not like Malik _actually_ wanted to comfort him, he was just acting decent to ward off his PR.

Liam falls against the seat instead as the vehicle begins winding down the endless drive, closing his eyes in efforts to ignore the energy that still fills the air, buzzing around as if trying to find connection. And it’s nagging like that ache in your tooth you want to press against just to feel _something_ even if it hurts.

He wants to cross the center divider of a seat to rest his arm around Malik just as the male had done for Liam – if only to give that lightning purchase. To say ‘ _we’re in this together’._ But he doesn’t. Because Prince Malik doesn’t want it, and, frankly, doesn’t deserve it either.

♚♚♚

Zayn had been curious as to the exchange between Liam and Eleanor before they left and shocked when Liam sank into his side as if _he_ was the smaller of the two in both build and spirit. Shocked because he had meant it for show, and he had selfishly willed Liam to act as well because it would have fueled Zayn’s dislike toward him, made it easier to keep a clear mind. But Liam hadn’t reacted out of pretense. And it just confused Zayn in the worst way because Liam was supposed to _hate_ him.

Liam jerking away from him a moment later struck reality back into Zayn, so he retreated to the right window, eyes staring at the landscape with clenched fists in his lap.

Arriving at the news station held him in the same position until Paul was opening the door for Zayn to step out, cameras flashing at him. He stood just outside of the door after exiting, waiting until Liam was standing beside him, eyes wide, before placing a hand at the bottom of the other boy’s spine. 

Zayn is already in no mood for paparazzi, so when Liam’s uneasy expression glints around and he presses farther into Zayn, Zayn escorts the boy inside quickly and lets security make sure no one follows.

Liam is ushered inside via Zayn’s steady palm just above the indents at the bottom of his spine. They’re greeted by a middle-aged woman with blonde hair in a tight bun, polite smile telling them there’s food in the room they’re to wait in. As soon as she leaves the security and PR team stumble in.

Multiple eyes on the New Royal Couple remind Zayn that his hand is still pressing into the small of Liam’s back. Zayn freezes as he notes his fingers curling softly in a scratch he knows he’d love for himself. Zayn drops the too-friendly touch quickly as soon as Eleanor sidles up to Liam, whose face brightens in her presence.

So maybe it’s a bit annoying that Eleanor (a friend, even if he won’t admit it) has taken so to Liam Payne, but that’s just because _everyone_ has and it really doesn’t make sense because _why the hell does the boy have to be civil with everyone else besides Zayn?_

So Zayn only lets a small huff puff past his lips before he falls onto the couch on the far side of the room after grabbing a donut. _Ew; fucking jelly-filled._ He thumbs through his phone as if his life depends on it when in reality he’s just playing this damned Geometry Lite game.

It’s not uncommon for Zayn to go to an event and hole up in the corner, so it’s no surprise when everyone goes about as if he doesn’t exist. And normally it’s all fine and dandy because that’s just him, his personality: he’s not too talkative or outgoing around people he’s not friends with, and even then he’s reserved a bit. It’s just how he is. Most people have just taken his standoff-ish behavior to mean he’s unfriendly or – _dare he repeat_ – broody. It doesn’t faze him one bit. Except for right now it _does_ bother him.

After dying seven times in a row because he isn’t paying attention, Zayn glances over the top of his phone to scan the room. And Liam’s right there with Eleanor looking as awkward as ever. His plaid button-down fitted nicely, fabric conforming to the muscles in his arms, shoulders. And _maybe_ Liam Payne is attractive. Maybe. It’s in the Boy Next Door way, which means everyone wants a taste to see if his skin is pure vanilla or acid in their throats. 

Smugness hitches Zayn’s lips at the corner because _Liam Payne is his._ He’s flashy jewelry to hang off Zayn’s arm at pointless dinner parties, the one that’ll keep both paps and fans happy with bogus stories of how they’re fighting or fucking in a public bathroom. His fucking puppy-dog-faced babe that will no doubt keep Zayn out of trouble in the long run, because who cares if Heir To The Throne Zayn Malik got stupidly smashed at a club when his _perfect boyfriend_ was there with him? 

So maybe not in heart and soul, (definitely not, because that kind of shit doesn’t exist anyway) and maybe not in physical terms (although Zayn is sure Liam’s mouth was made to be abused), but in _technical_ terms Liam is no doubt Zayn’s fiance. _Legally_ is. Liam Payne of Wolverhampton is his for better or for worse for as long as they both shall live. 

Now, Zayn knows he has a possessive streak, but the fire that burns in the pit of his stomach at the thought of Payne being _his_ is something he’s never felt. And he’s played the part of a douchebag long enough to feel no shame in blatantly checking Liam out from across the room, eyes sweeping to bite his lip at the curve of that arse.

Zayn blinks out of his disgusting thoughts, ashamed that he even for a second labeled another human being as property, as something to be used for his own advantage.

The blonde woman enters the back room just as Zayn stands to his feet, mind hell-bent on getting closer to Liam. Because he’s going to marry the guy, and he doesn’t want anyone else getting any ideas on whisking Liam away like some Helen of Troy parody.

“We’d like Prince Malik and Mr. Payne on the stage in ten minutes,” she announces to Zayn’s employees.

Zayn crosses the room in seconds, sidling up to Liam and tugging him into his side, hand digging into Liam’s hip. Nobody notices the yelp that escapes Liam’s lips as they’re all nodding along to stage instructions from Blonde Bun. Liam’s eyes wide, he tries inching away from Zayn. 

“Nuh uh uh,” Zayn tisks, smirking at his fiancé as his fingers press Liam even tighter to his side. The shiver from Liam is enough of a confidence booster for Zayn to lightly nip at the boy’s earlobe before whispering, “Gotta act like you like me, baby.”

Zayn pulls away slightly from Liam as he feels eyes land on them. “Just give us a moment, yeah? Five minutes tops. Promise,” he addresses the room before maneuvering the taller boy in front of him and guiding Liam forward with his palms clasping hard hips.

As soon as they’re in the hallway Liam jerks away from Zayn. “What the _fuck_ was that, Prince Malik?” he hisses, eyes black.

A frown tugs at Zayn’s mouth because – yeah – the boy is mad. Zayn steps toward Liam and ignores indignant eyes in favor of backing him into a wall.

Liam is too shocked to do much besides leave his eyes bulging and mouth open. Even his attempt at pushing the Prince away is feeble, he knows. “What –?”

Zayn’s hands fall either side of Liam’s head, caging the younger lad against the wall. Chest to chest, Zayn can feel Payne’s heart beating against him. He smirks at that and brings his right hand to Liam’s jaw, pushing upward to close the boy’s mouth and prevent any commentary. “Can’t have your pretty little mouth open like that; people will begin to think they’re able to use it.”

At that, Liam narrows his eyes and tries again at shoving away from his tormentor. “Get the fuck _off_ me you sick bastard!”

“Liam!” Zayn’s voice is raised. He doesn’t mean to adopt the tone reserved for ridiculous business cheats or handsy drunks at bars, but it does the job in that Liam quietens, shrinking further into the wall at his back. He tries not to notice how Liam’s puppy-dog eyes darken at his firm, authoritative tone.

Right knee sliding deftly in between Liam’s, the Prince is surprised to feel a definite interest in Liam’s friend against his thigh, and – oh. “You like this, don’t you Liam?” And it’s not a question, because Zayn lightly presses his hips against Liam’s and the latter’s eyes dilate responsively. Smirk growing fuller as excitement lines Zayn’s innards, he almost can’t contain his amusement. “You’re a submissive little pup, aren’t you?” leaves in a lilted whisper.

Zayn is a bit confused as to why Liam turns his head, avoiding Zayn’s gaze. “Please don’t make fun,” Liam whimpers, tone tinged with shame.

And - _what_? Zayn merely did this to fuck with the boy just like Liam had caged Zayn against a wall last night, but Liam’s quiet vulnerability throws him off a bit, heartbeat faltering. His hand is firm against Liam’s jaw as he brings their eyes to meet. “Liam, no,” he can barely get out his thoughts, shaking his head as he groans, “ _fuck_ , baby – it’s _hot_.”

Maybe it’s the intimacy in his words, or maybe Liam thinks Zayn’s making fun of him, but either way the bulkier boy schools his face into a stony, harsh glare.

But Zayn can still see a bit of uncertainty in Liam’s eyes, so before the boy can talk Zayn is filling the silence with words yet again. “I’m serious, Liam. _Fuck_ ,” Zayn can’t keep his crotch from pushing against Liam’s. And now _Zayn_ should be embarrassed, because the moan he lets out is anything but manly.

The only way to describe Liam’s still-silent being is flabbergasted. But he doesn’t push away.

“But it wouldn’t matter if I didn’t like the idea, Liam,” Zayn tries to reassure before his dick fogs his foremost concerns, “Everyone has preferences, and nobody should be shamed for them.”

Zayn fixes his eyes on Liam’s, breathing a bit heavier. “I’ve got you, Liam. Alright?” He drags his fingertips down to Liam’s pulse point on his neck when Liam gives no acknowledgment, pressing down lightly with, “Alright, Liam?”

The strangled mewl Liam lets free has Zayn’s mind churning, and before he can think it through Zayn attaches his lips to Liam’s pulse point.

Liam is more startled than anything, but as soon as Zayn’s wet lips sponge over his sensitive skin, thick fingers twist into raven-black hair and hold Zayn to his jugular. “Prince Malik,” comes out in a breath a few seconds later.

Zayn groans at that, cock pressing incessantly against Liam’s bulge at the name. He sucks harder because, okay, _maybe_ he’s got a few kinks, especially when authoritative titles are considered.

When he finally pulls off there’s a quarter-sized bruise placed so prettily on Liam’s skin that Zayn can’t help but to lick over it languidly. “Mine,” he looks back to Liam’s blown eyes briefly, “  
I’ve got you, yeah?”

Liam just nods dumbly, thoughts presumably still a bit muddled as he tries to settle down.

Zayn literally jumps as a head pops into the hallway, non-apologetic and uncaring that they’ve quite obviously interrupted something. “We need you two now.”

Liam is back to business as if he wasn’t just whining under Zayn’s tongue. “Perfect. Thanks.” The confident flash of his teeth has the news station crew member disappearing as soon as she had come. But as soon as she’s gone Liam falters, eyes flicking over Zayn nervously.

And Zayn doesn’t know quite what to do. He’s never been in anything near this situation. “Um, I’ll – uh,” he tries, “I’ll be right there, Liam. And, uh, save the 'Prince Malik' for the sheets.”

He’s near running to the bathroom before a response can be issued from Liam. It isn’t hard to find with just being down the hall. Icy water whipping at his face brings little clarity to Zayn’s throbbing forehead, though. Because _what the fuck was that?_ For one, he just implied he’d bed Liam. Which is terrifying because _he’s never slept with anyone_. Secondly, _what the fuck just happened?_

Jerking straight he knows he can’t waste any more time. And his jeans are a bit too tight even as he adjusts himself, willing his dick to listen to his brain. But they’re not near as hard as the grinding of his teeth. _Fuck_.

He pushes away from the bathroom counter and snakes his fingers through his hair to get it to stand firm, tugging a bit roughly to pin-prick sense into his brain whilst scolding himself. He had let Liam best him at his own game, or in the very least leave it a tie. Which won’t work. Because Zayn doesn’t lose.

Stiff-arming the bathroom door, he vows never to let Liam’s stupid fucking eyes or tight little arse get in his head again.


	3. Emotions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An interview and then lunch

**L**

The history of England is taught across the nation, and even then some in other places. The Bradford/Wolverhampton Civil War dates between 1958 and 1959; _too short to be considered a war_ Liam deliberates. And _really_ barely any blood was shed – so little as to where it could be more considered a political war if anything at all. But none the less, it is considered a war because it left England with one sole kingdom _yada yada yada_. So, with all its preaching, it’s only natural that everyone who knows of the war also has jotted down the Fun Fact in their history notes at one point or another of the treaty originating from it. 

Needless to say, finding a date was always a bit difficult when he had a white-hot brand on his arse that blazed _Malik Property_. In exchange for parties or date nights, Liam found himself studying or working his muscles at the gym, and he was just fine with that. He was perfectly fine with being the bloke all his peers strived to be in either sport or academics, the chap nobody really tried befriending further than copying his homework. And, honest, Liam is still perfectly fine with most of his free time going into acing exams. But for the life of him he can’t find the use in perfect marks when none of it trained him to control his self against attacks from the same sex.

What just happened was _mortifying_ , and Liam still feels the effects in his hot cheeks and stiff cock. And for the life of him he can’t figure out _what_ it is exactly that just happened, he just knows his privates have never acted this way – up and at ‘em in under a minute, that is – not once. Not at home on his laptop, not on the rare occasion when he snuck out to a club.

Never being much one for eloquence in English, Liam can’t find the right adjective for his current state. He’s turned on, a bit of shock holding him still and mostly silent. He’s also feeling betrayed by his own dick and pissed that he didn’t push Zayn Malik away when he could have. But more than anything, he’s confused and _fuming_ at Malik’s _nerve_. How _dare_ he, after avoiding Liam for literally 21 years of the junior’s life, waltz ( _Technically, Liam waltzed into Malik’s life_ , but that’s not the point) into said boy’s life and man-handle him into being some sort of fucking _sex slave_.

“Liam!” Eleanor urges, “Would you please tell me what the fuck is the matter?” She’s growing increasingly exasperated with Liam’s lack of response, he realizes. But he doesn’t much know what to say. Focusing in on his balled-up fists, he notes that his fingers are white and buzzing from the lack of oxygen.

“Jesus Christ, Liam!” Eleanor all but yells, slight frame shaking Liam’s with hands on his shoulders. “It looks as though he fucking _bit_ you with the hickey on your neck!”

Panic swells in Liam’s chest, finally pulling him out of his quiet rage. “Cover it up, El, please!” a near whimper falls from his lips as his eyes widen – he’s sure – comically.

His friend rubs his arms soothingly, a bit taken aback at Liam’s change in demeanor. “I’m afraid not even the gods could hide that mark, babe. Plus,” she continues, ignoring Liam’s indignant squawk, “at least you know he – erm – likes you quite alright.”

Liam’s mouth falls open at that, eyebrows drawing together as he fumes, “The bastard is just trying to piss me off! I’m not some fucking sexual conquest to hang on his wall, Eleanor!”

The PR face falls into role. “Liam, if Zayn in any way forced himself on you, you should tell someone. If you’d consider it sexual harassment, please help us protect you.”

“No, it doesn’t really constitute,” Liam confesses, trying not to hate himself for falling so easily under Zayn. So much like a, well, _submissive pup_. “I’m sure he just likes to rile his flings up. Some sort of kink,” Liam sneers.

Eleanor’s eyes roll as she retreats. “Honestly, Liam Payne, get a grip. If he’s trying to piss you off, it’s certainly working, isn’t it?” The set of her mouth and the way her hand fits to her hip wards Liam from commenting. “And that’s my friend you’re talking about. He’s not some lothario, Liam. I don’t even know of him bedding anyone, so quit assuming things and give him a chance maybe.”

When he’s angry, Liam is usually loud and rambunctious. When he’s hurt he’s stoic and silent. And hurt he is at Eleanor’s words, mouth snapping shut and fingers curling uniformly against his palm to spin on his heel and stalk his way onto the stage where lights are beating down on a red couch in the center, table in front of it and armchair to its left. He plops down at the end of the sofa, right side pressed against the arm as he feels the pit of his stomach tighten. Not even Eleanor took his side. He’s truly fucking on his own in this new town, his new life. He can feel the dregs of an attack making their way up his throat because he’s so out of his element he doesn’t know what to do.

Lights flicker on around him, but he hardly takes note of men and women in black moving equipment around until Kara Douglas, lead anchor of Bradford Buzz Talk Show, is stood in front of him adorned in a wide smile with a dainty hand raised in greeting. With dark skin and even darker hair, she looks nice enough, if not a bit older than his mum in real life.

Liam stands quickly, remembering his manners to shake her hand and drop a kiss to her cheek in greeting. Just as he pulls away he notices the monstrosity of a camera pointed straight at them and _when did they start filming?_ He faintly remembers someone – obviously Kara – speaking into the camera moments ago, and he _thinks_ it went along lines of “This is Bradford Buzz and today we’re honored to have the company of two princes…”

A warm hand shocks the _ba-dum_ back into Liam’s heart before he even realizes his lungs failed moments ago. A walking contradiction, Liam’s spine arches ever so slightly into the touch even with his senses screaming to get away.

“Oh, Zayn!” Kara Douglas’s feminine voice praises, “Always lovely to see my favorite Prince.”

After a brief embrace between Malik and Kara, – Zayn’s hand pressed firmly above Liam’s bottom still – Zayn pulls back and scoots the loveseat slightly to angle toward the armchair. He nudges Liam to take a seat and then drops right beside him, thighs melting together under the heat of the stage lights. Malik’s arm is thrown over the back of the seat and Liam feels it lightly against his shoulders. “And you, Kara, my favorite host,” he winks.

“And no offense to you, Mr. Payne,” Kara turns to Liam, “just used to having only one Prince is all.” She raises her eyebrows and laughs lightly in apology.

As much as he really just wants to hurl or run or _die_ , Liam can’t help but focus on the way Zayn’s face contorts into fake sorrow as he says, “You wound me, Kara!” His free hand slams to his chest, “And here I chose you solely.” It’s so… _odd_ seeing Malik… playful? Flirty?

“Oh, hush,” Kara rolls her eyes teasingly before gesturing toward Liam, “We all know this boy’s your true desire.” Liam’s still staring at his betrothed, hardly hearing what would no doubt have him flustered something awful, and – no, that can’t be a blush biting the Prince’s cheeks.

“And, Mr. Payne,” the hosts continues amicably, never missing a beat, “might I add that both of you look rather handsome this afternoon?”

Liam thinks it may be his opening to speak, but he can’t open his mouth for fear of his breakfast coming up, because his sweaty neck is telling him the fucking lights are hotter than the sun and it’s not that he’s especially bad with crowds, he’s just not good with words or –

A huge breathe falls from his mouth in a relieved sigh, because he’s saved when Malik pops in with “Doesn’t he, Kara?” _Okay, so not saved so much as embarrassed_ , Liam thinks as the older boy’s arm wraps around his shoulders and pulls him minutely into his side.

The lady in front of them just snickers softly, eyes glinting with mischief. “So what’s this everyone hears about you being cross with Mr. Payne, hm? And is his – ahem – _love-bite_ something we can take in meaning everything’s been sorted?”

Liam freezes in his pants at that. He had actually forgotten his stunt with The Prince on his first arrival at the palace and his cursed tweet, and he had also forgotten the mark momentarily. He’s sure the bruise stands dark in contrast with his ever-paling countenance. It’s now that Liam resolves to speak as little as humanly possible and just get _out_ of this without fainting.

Prince Malik may or may not have picked up on Liam’s lack of enthusiasm seeing as he leans forward slightly to put his body between Liam and the host. Or maybe he’s just an attention whore. “Quite the contrary, actually,” Malik speaks up, “Incorrigible, this one.”

Liam knows he must look like a school girl rowing with her mortal enemy as an indignant tumult huffs past his wide mouth, but he does not care whatsoever his audience. Turning toward Malik as he jerks away, “I’ve done nothing more, Kara. _Insatiable_ , this one, if you’re truly wondering.” His arms cross over his chest as if building up a defense. And he _knows_ he looks like a pouting Louis Tomlinson, but he can’t be bothered.

Liam expects anger to fall on The Prince’s face, but he just looks… shocked? Amused? The lack of hungry flames to hide his surroundings has Liam shrinking back, shameful of his outburst on _live television_ , and his sudden limp posture has him at Malik’s mercy as the darker boy’s arm slides lower around Liam’s waist, settling him back into Malik’s side. Liam’s chin is tucked, but he can feel the heat of his suitor’s words “’s true, I s’ppose” loud enough for the camera to pick up, but warm enough to tickle Liam’s ear. Against his better judgment, lips brushing his ear have Liam giggling – once again like a damned schoolgirl – into his right shoulder, trying to escape the dancing of his alight nerves. Wait – _did Malik just kiss his ear?_

“No, Kara,” The Prince holds Liam’s eye before turning to the host, “’m pretty sure my love-bite just got _me_ in trouble.” The arm that was previously winding Liam’s waist is now back over the couch, but Liam doesn’t know much what to think of it.

“Liam – can I call you Liam? – it seems you two keep each other on your toes,” Kara prompts.

Now that he’s not sharp with retaliation, Liam feels his tongue dry up. He takes a moment to cheaply arrange vowels before a quick, “I guess so.” He subconsciously leans into Malik, and then, “Bit hard to get to know someone in a day. Making up for lost time, I reckon.” And it sounds daft to his own ears.

“Oh, come now,” Kara acts to swat knees, “I’m sure you’ve had your fair amount of dates.” Kara’s eyebrows waggle dangerously, and Malik stiffens at that, both elbows going to rest on his knees and right leg no longer touching Liam’s. 

And Liam thinks to comment something honest on that like _This Bastard doesn’t care about courting me_ , but then moves on to something still honest, just not risqué enough to have him on his arse on the side of the road like _We never could make plans, actually_. But then he notes Zayn’s discomfort and _Yes. He did this to himself. He should feel like an arse._

So with anger licking up his throat, Liam forces a smile to his face and his arm over his fiancé’s shoulders. “Oh, yeah, loads.” Liam can see Dark Locks looking at him out of the corner of his eye, but he hardly cares. “In fact,” his arm curls itself around Malik’s middle, fingers digging into his hip, “just recently Prince Malik invited me to the premier of Guardians of the Galaxy. Y’know, the newest Marvel release?” Liam feels his stomach loosen at the mention of the movie, because, yeah, it was really good once he’d gotten around to the theatre.

The boy under his arm stiffens even more and tries pulling away, but Liam just steels his grip and brightens his smile. “I was too poorly to go, so of course This One tried to get out of going alone,” Liam squeezes Malik for show (and maybe because he gets off of feeling the dick squirm), “but I convinced him to have a good time without me.”

“Well, we’re all glad you decided to go, Zayn,” Kara is oblivious to the fucking _palpable_ tension between the two, “Let’s not forget the donation you made that night to the Children’s Hospital in London. And the piece was just magnificent, you looking dashing as always to match!”

And - _Zayn’s a philanthropist?_ – Liam barely thinks better of adding, “That’s Malik, for you.” He swoops down to plant a ridiculously wet kiss on the boy’s even more ridiculously shaded cheek bone. “My Beautiful Boy has the biggest heart and the looks to match.” He turns to a beaming Kara Douglas and ignores the pleased glint in her gaze. “It’s hardly fair I get to have both the rest of my life.” At least the part about it being _hardly fair_ is true.

“Oh, Kara!” The deceitfully sweet tone dripping from Malik’s lips reeks of poison, “My Liam is too modest, really.” He slaps his hand onto Liam’s knee in a way that looks playful but has Liam wanting to reel away. “He’s too sweet for me.”

Senses overwhelmed with _want_ and _disgust_ , Liam starts to cut in because the dancing of Malik’s fingers further up his inner thigh forebodes trouble, but he doesn’t think anything more than a squeak he’d be able to produce.

“He had the most wonderful surprise for me yesterday afternoon when he arrived at the palace.” Malik’s eyes are black as ever, and Liam doesn’t think it’s from desire this time. “Isn’t that right, honey?” He squeezes Liam’s thigh roughly.

Newfound irritation fuels Liam’s carelessness, “Well, it’s the least I could do after this perfect gentleman welcomed me so kindly when I got there. Standing right out front with his family, he was.” Liam turns to his betrothed with a tight grin that has his jaw aching.

“Oh, goodness,” Kara flutters, neither guest looking at her, “and may I ask the surprise Liam had planned, Zayn?”

Liam doesn’t think he’d look away if he could, honestly, because Prince Malik’s eyes are – they’re proper _gorgeous_ is what they are. The brown – _but can you really call it brown?_ – is trapped by a black circle, and the closer it gets to the pupil the lighter it becomes – and is that _green_? But almost yellow.

A hand takes hold of his chin easily, thumb rubbing over scruff lightly. Liam thinks to say something, to answer a question, but he doesn’t remember what was asked. And also, there’s a freckle in Malik’s eye, and he doesn’t know what to make of it, but it reminds him of a cat. In fact, The Prince reminds him of a cat with his lithe form and yellow eyes – and slick smirk that grows the longer Liam stares at him. And Liam feels sick, stomach churning as if he’s walked into a trap when his suitor’s fingers trail down his neck.

Liam whimpers pathetically when the bruise on his neck is pressed into, and Malik turns to Kara with a shit-eating grin. “Let’s just say,” his eyes slice into Liam victoriously, “I can’t wait for the wedding night.”

Knowing good and well if his jaw wasn’t held closed by Malik’s firm grip he’d scream, Liam jerks away from The Prince.

Red, red and hot. He can see red when he squeezes his lids shut, and he knows that color is leaking into his cheeks as well, but he can’t control it. Because he’s _horrified_ and he wants to _cry_ over the fact that the man he’s supposed to be with forever is taking the piss out of him. And especially at the fact that the man knows good and well what he’s doing, how flustered and uncomfortable Liam gets with mentions of sex.

Everything is muffled – a technique his therapist taught him – as Liam breathes through his nose and tries to settle the slight tremor his hands have acquired. He opens his eyes, focuses in on a light at the back of the room in hopes of drying up tears before they fall. He hears Kara asking about a honeymoon or summat and feels his breakfast churn at the thought.

An arm is tucked around his waist – and he can’t help but to flinch – just as Prince Malik’s hot breath hits his cheek with “Anything for my blushing bride.”

And Liam knows he must look something awful, because Kara Douglas is calling for the end of their time, and a hushed “Liam?” falls from The Prince’s mouth that is colored so messily with a bit of uncertainty and smidge of worry it has Liam clutching his stomach to calm the storm inside of it. Because worry doesn’t fit at all on Zayn Malik. Anger, sure. Annoyance – indefinitely. Smugness? It exudes from his feature. But pity, pain? No.

His own feet nearly trip him on his arse as Liam bolts past nameless faces and into the hallway he’d stood in not thirty minutes ago with The Prince. Leaning against the wall, he prays to God above that nobody comes after him, and also that he didn’t ruin the interview (because that’s just him – he worries).

Apparently God shows no mercy, because not a fucking minute later footsteps are pounding toward him and – “What the fuck was _that_ , Liam?”

A roar of laughter if he’s ever heard one breaks out of Liam’s lungs, and in an instant his stomach isn’t quite so nauseas because, “Are you fucking _serious_ , Malik?” He takes in a slightly breathless Greek God as he lurches toward it, his own chest slamming Malik’s back into the wall behind him. “I’m having a fucking _panic attack_ and you’re worried about being _embarrassed_ or summat?” And _oh shit._ He didn’t mean for that to come out.

If he weren’t so miffed at The Prince’s selfishness he wouldn’t ignore Malik’s soft eyes or slight frown or pliant body, but he is and he does. Liam thinks his fiancé’s sweet and spicy cologne has never been more prevalent, more enticing, more irritating than now. Mouths two inches apart, Liam presses their bodies together, because the touch is a strange comfort as much as a repellence, because their thighs and stomachs meld together so effortlessly – like puzzle pieces (he’s not poetic, and it’s clichéd as _fuck_ , but he can’t concoct anything better). The electricity coursing his veins exits through his mouth with “I am not a slut, Malik. And if you for one second think I’ll ever sleep with you, request professional help.”

And just like that he’s off of Zayn Malik and leaning over the sink in the hallway bathroom. And it seems he left all the energy he had with the other boy, because it takes all he has to lean over the toilet before he’s throwing up.

♚♚♚

Staring down at the table he’s sat at, Zayn has four options before him: red, blue, yellow, or green. Yellow is what he grabs. For no specific reason other than that’s what he grabs, and that’s it. As bits of the sun decorate the paper tablecloth (the PR team chose a family-friendly restaurant for the new couple’s first official date. Casual.), a calm nestles its way into Zayn’s bones. He ticks off in his mind every emotion he’s seen on Liam Payne.

Anger is a definite, he decides, as he whisks a black sharpie from his back pocket and drags out one, two, three, lines that resemble a blocky V or U. A strong jaw line. Liam was angry during the interview.

Zayn outlines two legs, far apart in defiance. Sturdy. Liam also has shown a sassy, snarky side. Also very evident during the interview when Liam went off passive aggressively shaming him for avoiding a meet-up in favor of seeing the new Marvel release. Guilt pangs Zayn’s stomach horribly, but he does his best to keep it down.

The guarded looks on Liam’s face whenever he’s around is easy to pick up on, and Zayn draws it out in the set of Liam’s strong arms criss-crossed over his even juicer chest.

Or that’s what Zayn means to sketch, at least, but then his hands work on their own accord, and Liam’s left hand is cupped around the back of his neck – a nervous gesture Zayn has picked up on. Right hand in the dip of Liam’s left elbow, it’s definitely a stance Zayn has seen at least once. He was nervous at the start of the interview.

 _Horny,_ Zayn smirks, deep in thought as he lightly curves a bulge at the apex of his drawing’s thighs. Liam looked God-awfully sinful with tented jeans, back up against the wall. 

Which reminds Zayn of Liam’s wide, doe-like eyes, scared and vulnerable with his body pressed against Zayn. He looked even a tad ashamed as his body clearly craved Zayn’s control. Zayn feels a tug of want and a surge of - _what? Needing to mark his territory? The need to protect?_ – tightening his muscles, but ignores is in favor of flipping his Sharpie in hand to its ballpoint, rounding out the edges to puppy eyes.

And above all, Zayn muses that Liam looks best bashful. Chin tucked and cheeks heating from his spiel, Liam looked absolutely endearing after smarting off about the hickey. And Zayn can’t help but barely brush the red crayon over the apple of Liam’s cheeks, knowing it won’t do any justice for the real deal, but trying anyway.

Tying the rough sketch together of what he knows he won’t be settled with until it’s in watercolors on a canvas, Zayn does his best to imitate the way Liam’s red lip plumps up sinfully under the attack of his teeth. Whether turned on or nervous, Liam seems to find a way to take it out on his bottom lip.

Zayn’s honestly a bit startled as a voice clearing snaps his attention away from his art. To his right he finds the host that showed him to the private seating towards the back of the restaurant. Zayn covers his drawing as best he can with his forearms on the table.

Liam sinks down into the booth across from him with a nod to the host, avoiding Zayn’s eyes.

Which is fine. It’s fine. After the fiasco – or, well, whatever it _was_ exactly that happened at the Buzz station –, Liam refused to take the same car as Zayn to the restaurant. And _no_ Zayn isn’t even in the least bit irritated by that. Nor is he peeved that he couldn’t get in any chat with his ‘fans’, as they deem themselves.

“Your waiter will be right with you, Prince Malik,” the host claims, hands behind his back and eyes straight ahead. Zayn can’t even offer a nod before he’s gone.

The atmosphere is tense, awkward. Zayn lets his gaze fall on Liam, but the bloke is steadfastly staring at his lap, glow from his phone lighting up his face.

 _And that’s fine_ , Zayn reminds himself. It’s perfectly okay that his betrothed would rather be anywhere but in the company of the man he’s to spend his life with, rule a nation with. Perfectly peachy. Zayn goes back to doodling on the tablecloth. Just random things this time, things that may or may not end up inked permanently onto his skin.

Not five minutes later a man with a nametag spelling ‘Steve’ is greeting them kindly, bringing out two glasses of water and listing the afternoon specials as well as wines.

“The Shrimp Capellini is looking wonderful today,” Zayn smiles, “Extra spicy, yeah?”

“Of course, Prince Malik,” Steve assures before turning to Liam, “And for you, Mr. Payne?”

Liam looks devastatingly tired, Zayn realizes as he gets a good look at him. And lost. “He’ll have the House Ravioli, thanks,” leaves Zayn’s mouth before he knows what he’s saying.

The lost boy simply goes back to his phone. A barely audible “I can take care of myself” Liam mumbles as Steve returns to the kitchen.

Zayn rolls his eyes at that, Liam probably not even realizing he was heard, and before he knows it he’s asking “So, Marvel, eh?”

Liam’s head snaps up from his lap, eyes incredulous. “Does it matter?”

And Zayn… wasn’t expecting that. He can feel his eyebrows shooting high on his forehead as his fingers rub over his jaw. “You mentioned The Guardians, mate.”

“Yeah, got around to seeing it myself, thanks.” Anger. Liam is angry, slightly annoyed. And his lips are bitten raw, slick from his tongue. And _God_ , Zayn groans inwardly.

He doesn’t know how to react, but that doesn’t matter when his phone buzzes rather harshly in the quiet room. Zayn doesn’t know what he’d been expecting, but he’s neither annoyed nor delighted to find a message from Eleanor across his screen.  


> “ **Calder:**  
>  Playing nicely?” 

  
Zayn rolls his eyes before deciding to have a little fun:

> “ **Malik:**  
>  All’s fair in love and war.” 

  


> “ **Calder:**  
>  I promise you, Malik, that if Liam Payne comes out of that restaurant crying or screaming paps won’t be the only ones you’ll be up against.” 

  
Air whistles past his teeth as Zayn tries lessening his annoyance.

> “ **Malik:**  
>  Chill, Eleanor; the waiter hasn’t even served ammunition. And anyway, it’s Payne that hates ME, so I’d end up the one with a bloody nose.” 

  
Zayn takes it he’s won, seeing as his PR head doesn’t reply. He can’t help feeling smug, and he doesn’t even let the fact that Liam Payne is ignoring him get him down. Out of the corner of his eye Zayn can see a figure approaching, and then he’s smiling to himself, because he really is hungry, but then –

“Hello, boys,” Eleanor pulls a chair from another table, slapping her arse onto the edge precariously whilst resting her elbows on the table.

And Zayn knows he would find the jump Liam gives at least a bit humorous in any other situation, but as it is he barely has time to collect his thoughts before Eleanor is barreling on.

“Whether you like it or not, you two are stuck with each other.” She takes a swig of one of their waters, not even eyeing either boy to silence them because there’s no need. “Both of you have a bit of a sob story, yeah? I know it’s not exactly ideal to be signed to someone before you’re even born,” she turns to Zayn, “and it’s especially odd being bound to someone who was only a figment of imagination when you were born, yeah, Z?” She leans back at that, crossing her arms over her chest and waiting for a comment that doesn’t come. Sighing dramatically she continues, “So what I’m getting at is this; stop being gits.”

Zayn huffs indignantly at that, because of _course_ he’s getting in trouble. Every damn day it’s _something_. “It’s none of your business, Eleanor. Now –“

“’Now’ _nothing_ , Zayn,” her palm hits the table with a _smack_ , back straight as a rod, “It is _all_ of my business, because what you two pulled on that talk show could potentially cost me my _job_ , Zayn.”

Quiet-as-a-mouse Liam squeaks then, hand falling over Eleanor’s as his eyes grow large. “I’m so sorry, Miss Calder. I –“

“None of that, Liam,” she hardly snips, but it has a wounded mask slashing over Liam’s features.

And, “Stop being a bitch, Eleanor. He was trying to apologize!” Zayn, in his smarting, rises from the booth, properly jerking the table and slapping air around with his hand.

“Don’t call her a bitch, Malik,” Liam near shouts, mouth twisted in disgust as he coats his words with it.

An intense stare off lasts all of five seconds between the two men, utter silence besides their ragged breaths until Eleanor hisses “Sit” with finality.

And Zayn does sit with that, Liam’s eyes tearing to the other side of the room.

“This is exactly the matter, boys,” Eleanor sounds exasperated, flipping her long hair from side to side to eye the subject either her side. “Zayn, make up your mind. Either you hate him or you don’t, but you can’t just decide to give a shit after avoiding him for your whole damn life.”

And - _whoa_. He wasn’t expecting that to knock the breath out of him. Nor was he expecting his stomach to twist at air’s absence.

“And Liam,” Eleanor turns to him, his eyes wavering on her face, “Stop falling for Malik’s shit.” The younger lad balks at that, eyes widening as a stutter forms on his tongue before Eleanor continues, “Not like that, Liam. Just,” she throws her hands up – honest to God throws her hands up – “It’s not my place to get you two acquainted, alright? But, seriously, Liam; he was just standing up for you, and you twisted his words to call him out. Stop trying to find the worst in him. You’re shit at trying to hate him.”

The PR leaves a scowling Liam to launch her attack on Zayn once again. “And stop trying so hard to be an asshole, Zayn. It’s hardly affective when you have to work so hard at it.”

Rubbing his temples, Zayn eyes his cartoon of Liam Payne. He just lets his eyes rake over it: Anger, defiance, anxiety, want, fear. Then, in a voice he doesn’t mean to sound so small, “Is that all, El?”

“Not quite.” She’s calmer now. “I actually came to discuss the interview.”

Zayn keeps his eyes closed, steadying his breaths.

“If it weren’t for Twitter, I promise that the both of you would be in your graves right now.”

Snapping his eyes up, Zayn feels so tired. “What?” He’s tired of El and her guessing games.

“You looked like a proper couple on there, taking the piss out of each other. But of course the _public_ doesn’t know you were being right prats, so they just assume you can’t keep your hand off of each other. Which,” Eleanor looks up thoughtfully, “isn’t that far off since an Insider”- air quotes are thrown up – “let slip that you two quite enjoy being pressed against walls.”

Zayn doesn’t have to look at Liam to know he’s mortified, but he does anyway, the boy’s cheeks flaming lovely as the brown in his eyes shifts tints. And _fuck_. He looks like a damned vulnerable puppy again. “El” slips through Zayn’s teeth, accent curling it in a warning.

“Right,” Eleanor throws her hands up, eyes apologetic, “Sorry, there.” And then soon after, “But, anyway, I’ve got the cheque covered and we’re just having the food as takeout instead, so let’s go, boys.”

Liam stands to his feet with no protest, following Eleanor out of the restaurant as he averts his eyes from anyone who might want his attention.

And Zayn really shouldn’t fret over Liam Payne, but he does anyway. And he doesn’t want the boy to be uncomfortable of scared or whatever the hell it is that is going on in his mind.

At the last minute, Zayn tears off his doodles and cartoon Liam from the table before folding it nicely and jogging after his employee/friend and betrothed/boy he doesn’t actually know.

He’s too busy replaying all Eleanor said, trying to figure out what it all means when _wham_ and, “What the –?” _When did a wall get in front of him?_

“Sorry, sorry!” Is a bit panicked, falling from Liam’s mouth with a pitched lilt as he turns slightly and shoots his hands out to settle Zayn.

In any other situation, Zayn would be right cross with someone’s carelessness, but Liam looks suddenly younger with his big eyes. Looking to the crowd outside, the entrance being blocked off by security, Zayn sorts that Liam isn’t good with crowds, and Zayn’s stomach does some weird-ass flip at that information.

“We’re on a time crunch,” Eleanor snips, not paying attention to either boy, just noticing the sudden delay before she slips out the door. And, unfortunately, when she opens the door every fan out there seems to glimpse the two royals, raising their voices to let their presence be known.

Zayn curses under his breath before pulling Liam by the lapel of his (very fucking sexy) pea coat into the area leading to the restrooms. Without putting proper thought to it, Zayn’s securing his hands on Liam’s shoulders and pressing him into the wall.

“What – Zayn –?” is all that comes out of a slightly frustrated, still out of it Liam Payne.

So maybe Zayn knows a bit about panic attacks. Not much, but he read once that when someone’s having an attack it’s best to not touch them. But he figures Liam might be different, so he just leans a bit further into the lighter lad, tugging his chin up with light fingers. “I’m not coming onto you, promise,” he chuckles. “How about we focus on my voice, hm?”

And Liam just nods. Zayn doubts he really knows what’s going on, but Liam’s eyes are nearly solid with his, so he tries to scramble up something and ends up with “I like when you call me Zayn.” _Fuck_ that sounds daft. “I mean, like,” Zayn scuffs his feet on the carpet below, removing his hand from Liam’s jaw back to his shoulder, “Most people just give me fancy titles, ya know? Kind of tired of it.” He shrugs nonchalantly.

The only acknowledgement he gets is Liam’s hand finding its way over his chest, over his heart. And Zayn prays that the stutter it pumps out isn’t noticeable. The other boy nods minutely before dropping his forehead onto Zayn’s right shoulder.

It’s almost reflexive the way he falls into Liam, his hand slipping over the near-stranger’s heart to lean forward and hum some silly tune that’s been stuck in the back of his mind all day. Zayn only gives himself a few moments, waits until Liam’s heart rate is steady before, “We should get going now.”

Zayn can’t move. _Fuck._ How big are this guy’s _hands_? Because they’re covering the small of his back, dipping in snuggly, and Zayn really can’t move. “Liam?” His free hand goes to the younger lad’s hip, under the coat, thumb pressing into the bone.

“I just –“ Liam’s pulse picks up under Zayn’s touch.

“They’re proper wonderful, okay?” Zayn drags his thumb up and down over Liam’s damned checkered shirt. “And they love you, ya know? They’re right calm most of the time.” He’s trying to come off soothing and convincing while they both know they don’t have a choice but to go through the crowd.

Liam hiccups a bit, but he sets his jaw and nods determinedly. And when Liam’s shaky hand finds Zayn’s, Zayn writes it off as how he himself would comfort Harry, Ant, Danny, maybe even Josh. 

So Zayn leads them back out the entrance, the public now roped off by security, but no quieter. He glances back to Liam, but the boy now looks blank, much more the put-together lad he usually is. 

Zayn stops at the group of girls nearest him, grinning as they greet him and ask for a picture. He has to literally tug his hand from Liam’s tight grasp in order to sign a picture, and when he looks back to Liam the bloke is blushing a rose, hand rubbing his neck as if he’s embarrassed, and – _yeah_ , his cartoon Liam is quite accurate.

Rolling his eyes without any heat, Zayn slots in front of his fiancé with one hand on the scolded boy’s back and the other tugging wringing fingers from the neck they laid claim. “Right handed, mate. Had to sign something,” he smirks.

Liam only ducks his head when Zayn laces his left hand with Liam’s greedy fingers, tugging the boy close to his back as they make their way down the line of best wishes. And when someone compliments Liam directly, he absolutely beams, cheeks pushed high and eyes crinkling.

Zayn makes a mental note to add a bit of giddiness to his newest piece.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be posting every two weeks. It takes me about an hour to write 500 words, so that means ten hours for a proper 5000. And if I write when I'm not feeling it, it turns out shit. 
> 
> But in other news I'm interested in a beta (??) I've never had one before, but if you're interested please message me at my [tumblr](http://fratziam.tumblr.com). I'd love to make some friends :D


End file.
